Who Watches The Watchers
by Jac Danvers
Summary: Observation is not a unique trait to the members of the BAU. While Emily and Hotch's developing romance may be a mystery to their teammates, it does not go unnoticed. TV Prompt Challenge #11, Who Watches the Watchers
1. Day One: Employee Training

**Disclaimer: Don't own Criminal Minds. Based on the TV Prompt Challenge, Set #11, Who Watches the Watchers from Star Trek: TNG. Also, I don't own Mensa. I do own Petula, Elaine, and Trish.  
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**Day 1: Employee Training**

There are many things in my life that I am not. I'm not athletic. I'm not a particularly gifted singer or artist. And I sure as hell am never going to get a gold-leaf embellished invitation to join Mensa. All those honors belonged to my brilliant sister- Elaine, the girl with the full scholarship to Dartmouth, who had a seat reserved at Harvard Med and two journal articles published in _Cell _before even hitting her sophomore year of undergraduate studies.

Nope, I'm not brilliant. In all honesty, I was lucky to scrape by to my high school graduation. My parents blame it on my lack of effort. I blame it on chemistry.

Which is why, at 5:30 am, I am standing inside the Coffee Cabana- a holy grail of coffee, a veritable Mecca for java addicts. Community college isn't going to pay for itself, and my parents aren't offering to pay either. So for the next two years, I'll be rising at the crack of dawn and hauling my ass down here to serve some java-frapa-latte-chinos with a side of calorie-ridden baked goods before I head off to class.

"Hey Trish! Ready for the grand tour?"

Petula is the owner, and the woman I'm wholly indebted to for my current employment. She's about forty, but she doesn't look a day over twenty. Secretly I hope I look like her when I'm that old, though that's doubtful- Elaine had the good genes.

When I interviewed, I expected an intellectual looking woman. Was I ever wrong. Petula is one of those new-age hippie types, more likely to be practicing yoga than balancing her checkbook. Today she's dressed in a flowy shirt, rainbow in color, and bell bottom jeans that are frayed at the end. Long bedazzled earrings swing from her ears, and I'm pretty sure that next to her wedding band is a mood ring. All she needs are some pink tinted glasses and a couple of braids and the look will be complete.

"Recipes are over here," she says as we walk behind the counter, motioning to a thick black binder that makes my stomach queasy. How many different ways is there to make a cup of coffee? Scratch that- I don't think I want to know. She hands me the stores trademark red apron, and I tie it around my waist.

"Don't worry, kiddo, I won't leave you on your own. It'll be you and me running the morning shift, and it gets a little hectic. If the ship goes down, we're going down together!" She follows my gaze to the recipe book. "That bible over there contains the recipes from the last fifteen years. A lot of the holiday specials, some creative work from past employees. No need to freak out."

Too late.

The tour continues, and I learn how to work the coffee machine, the espresso machine, the cappuccino machine. Petula's just about to finish opening shop when I catch site of a woman outside slamming her car door and charging the entrance. Wearing a finely tailored gray suit, her brown hair impeccably groomed, she seems desperate for her early morning caffeine fix. She pulls at the door, then checks her watch, and her shoulders drop.

"Damnit!"

"Right on time!" Petula says enthusiastically, not even looking up from where she's unlocking the register. "Can you go open the door, Trish? That's one of our regulars! Ready for your first order?"

_Not really,_ I think, but I open the door nonetheless. The woman smiles at me gratefully. I can see dark circles under her eyes that she tried to hide with makeup. An obvious chronic workaholic- I know the symptoms, my family is made up of them

With the exception of me, of course.

"Hey Petula, can I get the usual?" She drops her briefcase at her feet, and places her purse on the counter.

"Sure thing, Emily. No, put your wallet away. This one's on me. Looks like you had a rough case. Was it that serial killer out in Wisconsin? I read about it in the paper. Trish, are you watching?"

I am watching. As Petula mixes two shots of espresso with mint and chocolate flavoring, adding a dash of whipped cream, I'm torn between observing her technique and the woman at the counter. She doesn't seem the type to be working as a police officer or FBI agent, or any of the other half a dozen security and law enforcement officials you find in the DC metro area. She's too… well, pretty. There's the aura about her, of privilege and wealth and everything you don't expect to see in a cop.

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Brutal," Petula says shaking her head. "Do you read the news, Trish?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Not really. Too depressing."

She shakes her head. "You really should. Can't be a good citizen unless you know the issues. Right Emily?"

The woman jumps up. She'd been dozing on the counter as we prepared her drink. "Absolutely," she agrees, and it's clear she has no idea what she just agreed to. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"We'll be here!"

Emily heads for the door, just as a man in a dark suit is about to enter. His face is drawn, his forehead has premature wrinkles, but when he sees her, his stern lips turn up just ever-so-slightly. "Prentiss." His voice is devoid of any enthusiasm or emotion. He's a bit like my dad, all business and no fun.

"Hotch," Emily's voice has a bit more vigor and life in it. "See you at the office?"

He nods and allows her to pass before he comes inside. Petula nudges me and smiles at him. "How are you Aaron?" There's a bit more tenderness to her voice as she speaks to him, and I wonder if my boss has feelings for the man called Hotch. I wonder what her husband would think.

"Fine thanks. The regular, please."

Petula nods. "Can you get me a Café Urbana, black?"

Simple enough. As I turn my back to the pair, I see Hotch reaching for his wallet and hear Petula say it's on the house.

"You can't do this every time we come back from a case," he argues. "Prentiss and I will run you out of business."

I fill the cup carefully, hoping to avoid any spills the first day, and wrap a jacket around the outside. As I pass him the cup of coffee, I see my boss smirk. "That's why we're so conveniently located near all the college campuses. It evens out. You two, and the rest of your team, you do a lot for all of us and get very little recognition. Consider it a thank you."

Hotch shakes his head as he accepts his coffee. Silently he leaves, without even a goodbye. Petula doesn't even seem fazed.

"They don't see the coffee house type," I wonder aloud.

"They don't, do they? But even the FBI can surprise you sometimes"

Before we can talk anymore, a hungover college girl stumbles through the door. She needs a coffee to help her get through the rest of her walk of shame. I'm tempted to suggest that her money would be better spent on a taxi.

Outside Hotch's car pulls away, and as I prepare a small regular with one cream and two sugars, I'm left to contemplate my first two customers and the strange lives they must lead up at Quantico.

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**So this was going to be a one shot for NCIS. Then I saw this prompt and the 100th episode, and suddenly this little idea turned into a bit idea involving Criminal Minds. This'll be a multichapter fic, and already it's much different than anything else I've ever written, so please bear with me. Ten tons of thanks to Kavi Leighanna and sienna27, who mediate the TV Prompt Challenge. Please leave a review and let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is always appreciated! There's a lot coming your way as soon as I have time to sit down and write it out (thank goodness Christmas break is write around the corner!)**


	2. Day Two: The Early Morning Rush

**Disclaimer: Nope, still ain't mine. But Trish, Petula, and Elaine all belong to me. **

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**Day Two: The Early Morning Rush**

There was no indication this was coming.

When I opened the door three-point-five seconds ago, there was nothing in the cramped parking lot of the strip mall. Well, nothing besides the cars of the few employees who have to report to shops in the strip mall at 5:30 in the morning. I flipped the sign, inhaling deeply the scent of today's specialty flavor, pumpkin spice. Ever since Petula handed me the bag and told me to start brewing it, I couldn't get enough of the scent.

I returned to my spot behind the counter, and awaited our first customers, the two agents from the FBI. My boss, a singular Perez Hilton of coffee shop customers, had taken the liberty of filling me in on the tidbits of their lives she knew about, along with the rest of the regulars that I would meet during the few hours I worked each day.

Then the bells above the door rang, and the deluge began.

Protesters aren't a novel thing in D.C. Pro-abortion, anti-abortion. Marriage equality. The sanctity of marriage. Save the pandas, save the polar bears, save the earth. Living here my whole life, I've seen every protest imaginable, from the justified to the absolutely ridiculous. I'm not even slightly interested in politics, but Elaine showed up to every protest that struck her interest. My sister wanted to save the world.

I just wanted to survive it.

OOO

As I watch the flood of young hipsters, with their brightly colored, glittering poster boards invade the Coffee Cabana, I find myself doubting I will survive this morning. Which is really too bad, as I have Calculus I at noon, and am quite looking forward to the lecture on differentials.

Not.

"Trish! Come back down to earth! You take the register, I'm brewing." Petula commands, and I take my place at the front counter, thinking: _Thank Jesus. _

My first day had gone smoothly. None of the fancy blended drinks had been too horribly difficult to make, though my caramel and chocolate drizzling skills were sadly lacking. Petula can make these beautiful, latticework patterns across the whipped cream. Mine look like sad blobs of chocolate mess. I'm hoping the old adage that practice makes perfect starts kicking in sooner than later.

"Do you have fair trade coffee?" the first in line, a peroxide blonde with dark brown roots and dreadlocks, asks.

"Do I have what?" That's definitely not one of the blends on our menu.

"Fair trade. You know. It's specially grown by farms that provide safe environments and fair wages to their employees. Do you know the conditions on most coffee farms? Do you?" She points finger at me in accusation, and I notice her nails are blunt with specks of dirt underneath.

Honestly I don't know the first thing about conditions on coffee bean farms. But judging from her tone of voice, they aren't good at all.

"The Guatemalan blend is fair trade sweetie," Petula calls calmly, voice rising over the debates on which chant to shout first when they reach the Capitol Mall.

"I'll take two," dreadlocked blonde girl requests, pulling out her wallet, thick with wads of cash.

The line proceeds slowly, each person taking an eternity to decide what coffee to order, despite the fact that they have been standing in line ten, fifteen, twenty minutes.

_I mean,_ _come on people_, _is it so hard to look at the menu while you're waiting and make a decision, _I gripe silently.

Petula is bustling behind me, humming a song I don't recognize. She's only an order or two behind me, and I can only pray that someday I'm as adept as she at this whole coffee making thing.

The door is propped open, the line going out into the parking lot. As one group of protestors receives their order and leaves the building, only to have the next group file closer to the front of the line, leaving not a single space to stand in the whole shop. In the doorway, I see the female FBI agent- Emma?

No... but it's definitely an "E" name… Emily!

She's definitely not as frantic as she was the day before, when she encountered the locked door on her mission to obtain caffeine. Her phone is out, and she's punching something into the keyboard and squinting to read the menu. Ordering for two? Probably a coworker- maybe even the guy from yesterday… Aaron. He seems like the type who would skip out on his morning coffee if he was running late to work.

"Do you know how much energy you're wasting running those cappuccino makers all day? It's companies like this that are killing our environment," an angry guy, maybe a couple of years older than me, huffs. His arms are folded across his chest.

I smile back politely, pretending I didn't hear him. "Can I get you anything this morning?"

"A mint-mocha cappuccino."

It takes all my strength not to whack him upside the head or close my head in the cash register drawer over and over. Hypocritical much?

"No problem!"

Emily is just reaching the front of the line when a black SUV pulls into the parking lot, the driver on his cell phone. He swerves into a spot, jumping out of the car. It's the other FBI agent, and he looks worn out and upset as he shouts into the phone.

His mind isn't on what he's doing, and he nearly walks into a waif of a girl sipping on a piping hot chai tea as she places the finishing touches on her "Save the Whales" poster.

Aaron drops the phone briefly, reaching out to steady the girl before she spills the steaming drink on her. Nothing drops, but despite this, a guy dressed like something out of a bad Nirvana music video steps forward. He looks confrontational, but I can't hear a word from inside behind the register. Whatever Aaron says in reply calms the guy down. Secretly, I hope he pulled his badge on the guy in a totally badass move, but it seems out of character for the stoic man.

His eyes move over the crowd until he spots his target, standing before me with her wallet out. "Prentiss!"

Aaron walks through the crowds of protestors, and moans and groans rise from those in line, angry that this man has cut them all.

"I want my usual and a decaf with room for milk please," Emily says quickly, before turning to Hotch. "What's up?"

"Call from JJ—"

"You know, you government people all think you can just do whatever the hell you want," one particularly feisty young man accuses, stepping out of the line and interrupting Aaron. He adjusts the bandanna that's holding his long, greasy black hair out of his eyes. "Just cut in front of the little people, stomp them into the groun—"

Aaron turns on his heel, his face completely blank. "I do not want to pull my badge on you, and I don't expect that I'll have to. I'm a federal profiler, as is agent Prentiss, and if we're not on our way to Dallas within the next hour, there is a great chance that another family would end up dead."

Emily groans a little, and I can't help but feel for her. Hadn't Petula said yesterday they just got back from a case?

"Now I know for a fact that you claim your bandanna is a symbol of your freedom now that you're in college, when in actuality, you wear the bandanna to cover your bald spot because you don't want your girlfriend to know. What you don't realize is that she already does. You say that you don't need your family, that they're supporting 'the man' and not working for freedom, but the thought of any harm coming to them makes you sick. You don't know what you'd do without them. Now let me do my job so I can keep that from happening to another family. Any other complaints?"

Meekly, the guy steps back into the line, adjusting his bandanna again. Aaron turns to Emily. "I'm going to assume you heard."

"Yeah, you want me to add your order on mine?" Emily offers, as the line seems to have grown longer.

"I'd appreciate it. I'm gonna get into the office and talk to JJ. Come straight to the conference room."

Without another word Aaron leaves, and by the time I tell Emily, "That'll be six-fifty-six for the order," his car is pulling out of the lot at top speed.

My words startle her. Her eyes have been following his car as well. She hands me a twenty, and leaves two dollars from the change as a tip. I'm really grateful, as the protesting do-gooders have only tossed in a few pennies and dimes off their change. Emily steps to the side to wait for her coffee, and my focus is pulled back on the register, where the next haughty protester is requesting a skim milk latte.

"So no whipped cream?" I ask.

"Um… yes whipped cream. That's the best part!"

God help me.

The next time I look over to the counter Emily is gone. A feeling of disappointment overtakes me. I've only been here two days, and Emily and Aaron are by far the most interesting part of my mornings. I don't know what's so intriguing about them. I mean, FBI agents are humans too, aren't they?

Then again, my parents always treated Elaine like she had some sort of superhuman powers.

As I ring up the last of the protesters I hope that whatever case has called the duo to Dallas is solved quickly. It's partially because I don't want to hear about any other families getting hurt.

But mostly because I can't imagine starting my mornings at the Coffee Cabana without observing them.

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**So first off, I want to apologize for the long wait for this chapter without a real explanation. I try to remember to include this disclaimer in all my stories, because I do tend to have a long delay between chapters. I'm a grad student, in a fairly intense science program that requires me to work full time in a lab as well as taking classes, so my time is pretty limited. Updates tend to be kind of spread out. Once again, sorry for the delay! **

**Next, thank you all so much for such a positive reception to the story and for your wonderful reviews! Special thanks to those who dropped a note: Cloverdaze, Panda Slippers, Bella Danvers, BOK, Moon Raven2, Luvin Lulu, and chiroho. I really do appreciate your thoughts. Also thanks to ilovetvalot for the PM. Again, it was greatly appreciated. **

**I'm on Christmas Break, so I'm hoping to have the next chapter up soon. Leave a review if you like! Positives, negatives, and needs improvements are always appreciated. All the best- Jac**


	3. Day Six: The Extra Shift

**Disclaimer: Criminal Minds, Ebenezer Scrooge, and the music of Miley Cyrus don't belong to me. **

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Day Six: The Extra Shift**

As the parking lot lights turn on in front of the Coffee Cabana, I reach the midway point in my reading for my Monday morning European History class. One week into classes, and we've already reached the Black Plague, speeding through ancient Greece, Rome, and the various and sundry Huns who at one point or another dominated all of Europe. How I am going to keep it all straight for the exam that covers up-through-and-including the Renaissance, I honestly have no idea.

Business is slow on Saturday evenings- most students opt for alcohol over caffeine on weekend nights, and honestly I can't blame them. Balancing school, work, and home life is tricky enough. It would be good to get out and relax every once in awhile. Only problem is, all my friends went away to college, ready to escape the "boring" scene of D.C. for big college towns.

I'm sorry, but really? Ames, Iowa and Madison, Wisconsin have a better party scene than the nation's capitol city? You've got to be kidding me.

Which is why I'm here, picking up an extra shift on a perfectly good Saturday night. Petula's son Ryder has an ear infection- his third this year- and she needed someone to cover. Given my lack of plans and need of money, I was more than happy to volunteer.

Beside that, the parental units are returning from a visit to Elaine tonight. All day yesterday I was admonished for not wanting to go, not being more flexible with my work schedule. "Patricia, you should have known we were going to visit Laney tomorrow," my father had scolded, using my sister's nickname. I was always Patricia to them, never Trish, like I was to the rest of the world.

Honestly, I love my sister. But going to visit her with my parents always makes me feel like a total idiot. I can see it in their eyes- I suck the intelligence right out of the room. Elaine was and always will be the brilliant one. I am just mediocre Patricia, who will never live up to my sister's glory.

Whatever, I'll drive out to visit her one weekend when I'm feeling up to it. Elaine understands. At least someone in this family appreciates me.

OOO

"THE SEVEN THINGS I HATE ABOUT YOU!" Amy sings as she rinses the interior of the coffee pot. It's not yet closing time, but business is so slow, we might as well start cleaning now and leave on time.

Amy is twenty-four going on fifteen, a high school drop out who's convinced she's still in her prom queen glory days. She's a fake henna red head, with a penchant for sparkles I've never met her before today, as she works seven days a week on the closing shift, when I'm normally locked up in my room studying my ass off.

"YOU'RE VAIN, YOUR GAMES, YOU'RE INSECURE…"

She seems nice enough, but her choice of music leaves a lot to be desired. Miley Cyrus? Even when I'm drunk, I can't tolerate the Disney Princess. Not that I ever drink. I'm only nineteen after all…

The thought passes my mind and I laugh internally. _Yeah right… _

As Miley whines on, I long for Petula's hippie music. At least those artists can sing, without autotune. But I really can't complain- despite Amy's head banging, she's taking on all the cleaning so I can get this homework done. I seriously owe her one.

Seven o'clock rolls around, then eight, then eight-thirty, and we're only half an hour from closing. Score! Just thirty minutes stand between me and my Netflixed copy of _Shaun of the Dead_. With a cup of coffee and the door of my room securely locked to keep the rest of the family out, this night is seriously looking up.

Life is good.

Or not.

The bells above the door tinkle, and in an instant, Amy stops singing and lowers her music. She returns to her washing quietly humming something about a hoedown. I look up from the counter, pondering just how '_polka dot it_' could be a dance move, when I see a familiar face walk in.

Emily looks haggard and exhausted. There are dark circles under her haunted eyes. Her clothes aren't messy, but they are a bit wrinkled compared to her impeccably ironed power suits. I wonder if she's just gotten back from the case that Aaron had told her about earlier this week.

Behind her enters another woman, with the same tired look on her face. She has long blonde hair, and bangs that fall perfectly in her face in the manner I have so often attempted and failed at replicating. She's pregnant, pretty far along from what I can tell. Not that I'm an expert.

Emily approaches the counter first. "Hey! I'll get my regular, the-"

"Mint mocha latte," I interrupt. While I forget most of the regulars' orders, Emily and Aaron's are stuck in my head. I don't really understand why they're so damn interesting to me. They're human, just like any other person who comes through the Coffee Cabana, but there's something _so _intriguing about them that I just can't put my finger on.

Emily looks surprised. "How do you… oh wait! You're the new morning girl, right? Sorry, I wasn't expecting anyone to know my order, I normally only get coffee in the morning. JJ, what do you want?"

The blonde smirks at me. "Can I get an espresso? Actually make that a double…"

I don't bother to write it down. She's obviously joking.

Emily gives her a gentle tap on the shoulder. "Do you WANT to give me a nervous breakdown? Coffee plus baby is a no-go. She'll have a bottle of water."

"Or a hot chocolate. That'd be good too," JJ says. I jot down the rest of the order and pass it to Amy, who walks off demonstrating exactly how to _'country-fy then hip hop it._' Silently, I wonder how anyone can remember all the moves to this stupid dance.

Leaning against the counter, JJ smiles at her friend. "The doctors are just going to love you when you start having kids, Em. Seriously."

Emily snorts. "At the rate I'm moving, it's getting more and more unlikely." She sounds bitter, and it makes me sad.

"Coffee's up!" Amy announces, passing the two steaming cups to the women.

They take a seat in the corner, even though the whole place is empty and the lights have already been dimmed in that part of the building. I would say something, but the customer _is _always right. Twenty minutes til closing, but it looks like we might have to stay later, if Emily and JJ want to sit and talk a while. I take comfort in the fact that we can lock the door once it hits nine, preventing any new customers.

"Scrub or sweep?" Amy asks me suddenly, making me jump from my spot leaning on the front counter. She's holding a bottle of dish detergent in one hand and a broom in the other. Neither option is really appealing, but I'm nosy. It's a fault, an honest one, but I want to know where Emily and JJ's conversation is going.

So, with more enthusiasm than perhaps I should display, I grab the broom from Amy's hand.

I move carefully across the beige tiled floor gathering the discarded napkins and pastry crumbs into a neat pile. There isn't much, but even skimping out on the sweeping one day risks a mouse invasion, or even worse rats. I abjectly refuse to deal with rats. Dragging chairs across the floor to access beneath the tables, I try to keep them from scratching and screeching. Emily and JJ are speaking in hushed voices, and I want to hear everything. It's an inherent curiosity- about the case they returned from, about why Emily is convinced she'll reach menopause before she reaches the minister and her fiancé at the front of the church. Who _wouldn't _want to know?

I'm pretty sure I'm going to hell for this. Or at least am well on my way to reserving myself a seat in the eternal scalding sauna.

"He's only been divorced a couple of months Jayje, And separated a year. Christ, it wasn't even his choice! She left him. Not to mention the fact that he's our boss." Emily takes a long drink for her coffee, chugging it like the beers my ex-boyfriend downed during football games. "Damn it, this normally kicks in faster, I'm not going to get anything done tonight at this rate."

Those few sentences I are enough to send my mind reeling. Is this a continuation of the baby conversation? Does Emily want to have her boss's babies? Is he really that hott? The words "boss" conjures up an ancient old man in my mind, weathered with age and half-blind, counting his pennies like Ebenezer Scrooge.

_Come on, Emily, you can do so much better. _

And now I'm giving internal pep talks to total strangers. New low? Possibly.

"You're kidding me, Em. Back to work. Seriously? We just got home!" JJ seems dismayed, but not surprised, as she sips at the hot chocolate.

Emily shrugs her shoulders. "Unlike you, I do not have a warm, cuddly Southern gentleman to return home to. What else is there to do? Might as well write the reports up while everything is still fresh in my mind."

"Or are you hoping a certain Senior Supervisory Agent will be there?" JJ clearly wants a confession from her brown-haired friend.

A half-smile briefly appears on Emily's face before returning to its previous neutral expression. "No. Absolutely not."

"Oh. You totally are." JJ is beaming now, and I suddenly realize I've stopped sweeping and have been focusing on the conversation. Quickly, I start pushing chairs back in.

My chore is done, and I dispose of the pile of crumbs, slightly disappointed that I no longer have a reason to eavesdrop. It doesn't matter though, because Emily looks down at her watch and realizes that it's nearly closing.

The two women stand, pushing in their chairs. Emily waves at me and Amy. "Sorry about coming in so late, ladies. Have a good weekend!" Before they leave, Emily tosses a dollar in the relatively empty tip jar.

As the bells above the door resonate, Amy nearly kills herself running to the door and locking it. She tosses me a rag to wipe down the tables and turns up the music.

Hilary Duff.

I check my watch. Only five more minutes of musical torture. I can live with that.

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**Hey everybody! Hope everyone had a very happy holiday season and that you've all been enjoying the New Year so far! I know I for one enjoyed getting home for a week of R&R. **

**Hope you all enjoyed this new chapter as well! It was fun to write. Also, apologies to anyone who is not a Miley Cyrus fan. The song and dance quoted throughout is the Hoedown Throwdown, and having listened to the song several times over, I have deemed it the most incoherant and unneccessarily complex dance in the history of life (this from a closet fan of Miley's music!).**

**Thanks to everyone who took the time to read and add/favorite the last chapter, and especially those of you left a review: jcsgc1, melpomene94, jazmingirl, lalixa, Odakota Rose, chiroho, JSgal24JAG, Orchidae, and Jean. Your comments are greatly appreciated! **

**Aiming to have the next chapter up soon! Feel free to leave a review- they are always greatly appreciated! **


	4. Day Nine: Trey

Disclaimer: Criminal Minds is not mine, as well as any pop culture references you may recognize. Petula, Trey, Elaine, and Trish all belong to me!

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**Day Nine: Trey**

I flip the 'closed' sign to 'open' and take a look outside as the sun is just starting to rise on an oh-so-cheerful Tuesday morning.

Tuesdays. How hellacious. They may be even worse than Mondays.

Looking outside, I search for Emily's car, even though I know she won't be coming in today.

OOO

Despite going back to work late Saturday night, Emily was our first customer Sunday morning, sweaty and in work out clothes. "It's my reward for being good at the gym," she explained with a smile as she sniffed the latte in her hand. It amazed me that she could drink the same drink, day after day, and never get tired of it.

She was the second customer on Monday morning, beaten only by a harried teacher with a purse in one hand and a tote bag full of graded papers in the other. As she waited for her drink- brewed for the first time by me!- Petula had asked Emily if Aaron was coming in as well, but Emily shook her head no.

"Jack was sick over the weekend, so he's taking the day to make sure he's well enough to go home to his mom's tomorrow. But I'm sure he can't complain. Hotch never seems to get enough time to just be with his son," Emily replied.

The two chatted a while longer, and Emily tossed a dollar in the tip cup. "Have a good trip!" Petula said cheerfully as Emily left. "Be safe!"

"Another job?" I asked.

Petula nodded. "She didn't say where. Must be a covert op." She laughed, her words just a joke. I should have been wondering why she was going without Aaron and the rest of her team, but my mind suddenly began creating dozens of undercover scenarios that Emily could have been tossed into.

OOO

Like right now. In my head, Emily is undercover somewhere on the Mexican-California border, busting a drug smuggling ring. She's dressed like a homeless woman, desperate and looking for a fix and a way into the inner circle. And then at the right moment…

BAM!

Emily pulls out her gun and takes them down.

"Come back to earth, sweet cheeks, we have a business to run," Petula says, waving a hand in front of my face. _Busted, _I think, returning to my post behind the counter_._ Living vicariously through Emily will have to wait until later.

Lord, I can't help but be jealous of how exciting her life must be compared to mine.

I stand behind the counter twirling my hair, as Petula flips through her copy of Women's Day. It's a slow morning, with just a trickle of business students from Georgetown heading to a lecture by the CEO of some big business I've never heard of. They're excited, and I wish I could be that enthusiastic about heading to school.

In my defense, though, it really is hard to get excited about Introduction to Philosophy. Locke, Rousseau, Bentham, Hume… ugh, they make my head spin.

"Hello, hello!" a cheerful voice calls from the doorway. A tall African American man is standing in the doorway, wearing scrubs and a New York Yankees cap. Petula looks confused. I, on the other hand, nearly trample my boss trying to escape from the confines of the bar. Trey is here!

Tremaine Carter is five years older than me, and qualifies as one of the few mutual friends Elaine and I share. He was my tutor in elementary school when I decided to play drums in the school band- a very short lived career, thanks to my very short attention span. Over the last few years, he and Elaine became really close working as nurse's assistants at the George Washington University Hospital. Now that Elaine's away, I don't get to see him as often.

"Why didn't you tell me you were downtown, dude?" I ask him, giving him a strong hug. "And why the hell are you up so early?"

"New schedule this semester. I switched programs. Med school wasn't my thing, so I'm becoming a certified med tech. I'm doing rotations now to help me decide what area I want to specialize in, though hematology is looking like a winner. And look at you, little miss. All grown up and in college and working. Elaine's proud of you, you know."

I smile back at him wryly, though inside I am a bit ashamed. Trey talks to my sister more often than I do these days. "I should get back behind the counter," I say quietly, nodding back to where Petula is. I don't want to deal with awkward conversations.

Petula shakes her head. "Look around you, Trish. Not like we're buzzing with business right now. Both of you grab a coffee, sit, and chat a bit. Just get back behind the counter when the customer's start rollin' in."

I smile at my boss, still a little unable to believe how laid back she is. Compared to the restaurant and retail store managers my friends bitched about through high school, Petula is a God-send.

"Thanks!" I indicate a seat for Trey to sit down in, and grab two regular coffees, light and sweet for me, and a dab of half and half for him.

"So how have you been?"

"Oh you know, pretty good. Getting used to school. You'll be proud of me; I'm putting in extra time studying and everything. I'm here a lot, but I really like this job so far. For once I feel like I'm actually doing something half successful, even if mom and dad think I'm a failure..." Damn, I wasn't going for bitter, but that's obviously a fail. "They're doing ok, though. Still making the weekly pilgrimage to visit 'Lainey."

He laughs, deep voice resonating. "Ha, yeah, so I've seen. At least you can take comfort in the fact that it keeps them out of your hair a couple of hours."

"True story!" I reply, finally breaking into a smile. Trey is one of those people who can get anybody to smile, even if they're in the worst of mood. "Believe me, I love it."

"But really, Trish. I'm proud of you. I know you weren't leaning toward college. You're a smart kid in your own right, no matter what your parents say. And I know Elaine is proud of you too."

I roll my eyes. "Yeah right. She wouldn't say that."

"Yeah she would," Trey insists, gulping his coffee like it wasn't steaming hot. "Damnit!"

"It says hot on the label, fool."

He sticks his tongue out at me, but never gets to give a rebuttal. The chimes over the door ring, and Aaron steps in, carrying a little boy on his back. The child's vice grip on his neck is turning him slightly blue in the face, but there's a smile on his face that I've never seen on his face before.

He's almost handsome when he smiles.

"Hold on a sec," I say to Trey, grabbing my coffee.

"Gotta get to work, Trish. Friday night, you and me, dinner. We'll catch up. Ok kiddo?" He gives me another hug.

I nod. "Absolutely. I'll give you a call."

Returning to my spot around the counter, Petula rolls her eyes. "Jesus! You could have stayed, Trish. I meant to come back when the rush came. You don't think I can handle a customer on my own?"

"Nope," I reply, finding myself in a surprisingly good mood. Seeing Trey has really started my day in the right way. And having plans for my Friday night for once is a pleasant change as well. "The usual?"

Aaron nods a yes. Now that his son is standing on the ground he's actually capable of moving his neck. "And a hot chocolate. Lukewarm Petula?"

"I remember. Can't let little Jack burn his tongue off." Petula's leaning over the counter making funny faces at the boy, and he's laughing hysterically.

"You can' burn your tongue off, 'Tula! That umpossible!"

God if this child just wasn't cute enough to begin with. The blonde hair, the big eyes, the inability to pronounce words. I wonder if Aaron would notice if I stole him…  
Yeah he probably would.

Petula handles the hot cocoa, making it super chocolate-y, and just warm enough for little Jack. I watch as she tosses in a couple of marshmallows she has hidden away in a closet. I handle the coffee, pouring it full. I've stopped asking Aaron if he wants room for milk. He never does.

"Here's your drinks," I announce. Jack is nearly jumping up and down in excitement, and Aaron rolls his eyes playfully, like a normal dad. I'm in awe of this side of the agent. His interactions with Emily are always so formal and serious, I was starting to believe his lips were permanently pursed and his forehead constantly wrinkled with worry lines.

"Pick a cookie Jack!" Petula exclaims. His eyes light up even brighter as he starts banging his fists against the glass display case. He seems to hit the chocolate chip cookies more than any of the others, so I take that as his choice.

A cell phone rings, and Aaron reaches in his pocket. "Yes JJ?" he asks.

I remember her. That's the blonde that was with Emily the other night.

In the span of seconds, his face changes from calm to concerned. "Have we had any contact with them? Are they alright?"

Trouble at work? I wonder if Emily is safe- she's out in the field somewhere- and I say a little prayer for her.

"How long until we leave? Give me thirty, I have to drop Jack off with his mother. I'll meet you at the airport. Grab my bag, Dave? No, no… that'll be enough time. Start putting together a profile. See you then."

Aaron throws a twenty on the counter. "Keep the change, Petula. See you soon. Jack, you got your cookie?"

Carrying the drinks in his hand, he leads Jack out. There's no hiding the sense of urgency about him now. All the happy, excited feelings that Trey's visit brought me are gone. My gut tells me something bad is coming, something disastrous.

And it's coming soon.

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**Another chapter done! Have you figured out what episode comes next? I'm excited for the next chapter! **

**Thanks to all those that took the time to read, and especially those who reviewed: jazmingirl, chiroho, sarramaks, KG86, ickleails, Odakota Rose, and KYOunlimited. I reall appreciate hearing your thoughts! **

**Reviews are always appreciated! Next chapter will be up soon (I hope!). Classes are starting back up soon, so life gets a bit crazy! Thanks and all the best- Jac  
**


	5. Day Eleven: Broadcasting Live

**Disclaimer: Criminal Minds? Nope, not mine. Any pop culture references you recognize mine? Not mine either. Trish, Petula, Trey, Elaine, and the dad? Totally mine. **

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**Day Eleven: Broadcasting Live**

With a victorious sigh, I chuck my pencil onto the oak desk I inherited from Elaine when she left for school. Seconds later, I'm diving towards the other side to keep said pencil from falling to the ground. It hits the beige carpeting of my room nonetheless, but I don't let it bother me. My essay comparing and contrasting the philosophers of the Enlightenment is completely outlined- and ahead of schedule at that!

This is a first for me, starting a paper ahead of the night before it's due. Maybe my sister _had _been on to something when she meticulously scheduled all her assignments in her day planner.

Not that I would ever admit that.

Really, I have my new favorite professor, Dr. Emil Schrader, to thank for getting ahead. He cancelled our public speaking class tonight, allowing me three glorious extra hours of free time. Given the option of spending quality time with my parents over dinner with their business associates and starting an essay worth a quarter of my grade, I chose the essay.

I glance quickly at my watch and realize it's nine twenty-seven. Score! I may have missed _The Office, _but I can still totally catch _Thirty Rock. _Slamming my enormous philosophy textbook shut with gusto,I tuck the outline safely away in my binder and head for the living room.

With the amount of money my parents make (and believe me, they're loaded), you'd think my house would have a TV in every bedroom, and a satellite dish that pulls in half a million channels. But the fact is, Elaine and I (and it was mostly me on this one, because Elaine wasn't all that keen on the idea) had to beg our parents for a TV. And even then, it wasn't until my sister pointed out the merits of National Geographic channel and Discovery Health that we were able to convince them.

I wanted to argue that there was some redeeming value to MTV, but Elaine informed me that the argument wasn't "logically sound." But hey, whatever she said convinced them that TV wasn't going to rot our (her) brain away, so for once I wasn't going to a scene.

Our family shares one TV, down in the den, and on a good night when the parentals aren't home, I can catch all my shows. Which is exactly my intent, as I skip down the stairs with my fingers crossed.

It's hard to believe, my mood being as good as it is right now, that I ever had any worries about this week. That feeling of dread I felt early Tuesday morning of the Coffee Cabana never came to fruition. Probably just my mind continuing to run away after thinking about what life at the FBI was like for Emily. I'll admit it- days at work seem just the tiniest bit longer when I don't have Emily and Aaron to amuse me, but I'm getting to know the other regulars. They're interesting enough. Just not "I work at the FBI" interesting.

Really, those three little letters bring a person to a whole new level of cool.

Trey came in for coffee the last two mornings, making sure he put a smile on my face before he left, reminding me that I owe Elaine a visit. We finalized our plans for dinner tomorrow night, something I've been looking forward to all week. Seeing him so often is making me regret that over the past few years, our friendship essentially disappeared, unless you count a quick "Happy Birthday" message on Facebook. But we're fixing it, and that's what counts.

Jumping off the last step, I enter the family room, only to see my dad settling back on the couch and reaching for the remote control.

"WAIT!" I shout, nearly jumping over the back of the brown leather couch. "Can I please watch _Thirty Rock_? Pleeeeease!"

I know a lost cause when I see one.

"The news is on, Patricia."

I roll my eyes, settling back on the couch and putting my feet up on the coffee table. He gives me a warning look, which I promptly ignore. "The news is always on dad. That's why the invented the twenty-four hour news station. It's just half an hour, then you can have the TV the rest of the night."

"Shouldn't you be doing homework?"

"It's done."

He looks at me in disbelief, and I cross my arms across my chest. A standoff.

"Fine, what channel Trish?"

I have to stop myself from gasping audibly. My parents _never _call me Trish. Not only that, I'm about to get my way. Maybe they had a bit too much of the bubbly at their dinner party?

"NBC."

"You know, you really should watch the news every once in a while. You need to know what's going on in the world."

I settle back into the couch as he fumbles with the remote, squinting to read the numbers. My father really needs glasses, but he's refusing to get them. He doesn't want to look old, but at almost fifty, he really isn't getting any younger.

CNN comes off commercial, and I see the charming, handsome face of the Silver Fox himself: Mr. Anderson Cooper. Almost makes it tempting to watch the news.

"It's depressing." I respond to my dad, same as I told Petula my first day at work.

"Life's depressing." He gives me a knowing look, and I ignore it. I don't need to be reminded how depressing life is.

"Breaking news out of La Plata County, Colorado," Anderson Cooper announces sternly, as if daring my father to change the channel. He stops mid-click. "Tonight we are just starting to get the details on the explosion that ended the three day standoff at Liberty Ranch."

My dad shakes his head in disgust- hopefully at the news and not me- and moves to change the channel, when an image on the screen catches my eye.

"STOP!"

He drops the clicker in surprise. "What's the matter?"

"Leave the news on."

"Did I just witness a miracle?" he jokes. I would laugh, but I'm distracted by the television. Or, more importantly, by the brief clips they just played. Suddenly, I'm incredibly glad that these stations repeat the same story forty thousand times and hour.

CNN is showing footage a large complex that reminds me of one of those Old Western military forts you can buy supplies at when playing Oregon Trail. The view is from the mountains, a good distance away, and at the bottom of the screen in tiny block letters it says "This morning." A reporter is jabbering away about covert operations and child abuse scandals. One second it's there, and thirty seconds later…

Nothing but a ball of flames.

Now, that on its own is enough to attract my attention. I mean, really, a whole fort going up in flames is pretty exciting stuff, if you don't think about the people who might have been inside. But it's the cutaway that gets me.

Just seconds after showing the fort going up in flames, CNN switches to another camera angle. One much closer to the ranch, where dozens and dozens of people streaming out into the night. Women and children are screaming and terrified. None of them appear to have any of their possessions. One woman is trying to run back in, tears streaming down her face. She must have family still inside.

And stumbling out behind the rest is Emily.

Or at least I think it is.

It's dark, and there are so many people in chaos, that it is difficult to discern who is who. Add on the layers of dirt and dust from the burning complex, and what looks like to be bruises and cuts, and it's almost impossible to tell. Just as I begin to move closer to the screen, Anderson Cooper cuts away, and begins a long winded discussion of the cult leader Benjamin Cyrus, and the history of the Liberty Ranch. That leads into a commercial break, and I sigh in impatience.

"What's going on?" my father asks me.

"Wait a sec."

The two minute break seems to drag on longer than usual, but Anderson Cooper returns and shows the clip of the explosion again.

"In a press conference this afternoon, Special Agent Jennifer Jareau of the FBI issued an announcement that leader Benjamin Cyrus was killed in the attacks. Total number of dead as of yet is unknown, but it appears that nearly all of the women and children of the community escaped unscathed. Additionally, they have confirmed that the two FBI agents who entered the ranch three days ago to investigate child abuse claims escaped safely."

The screen flashes to a press conference against a desert backdrop, and the blonde woman who had coffee with Emily last week is talking behind a microphone, though they do not play the recording of her words. Moments later, they replay the clip of the people escaping the building. I move off the couch, close to the television screen.

It is Emily.

They play the clip longer this time. There is Aaron, moving into view, back towards the ranch. For a moment, they stand still, staring aghast at the blaze. Then they look at each other. It's brief, hardly more than a glance before Aaron comes over and wraps an arm around her shoulder. He's leading her away, and I can tell by her slow pace that she definitely needs all the help she can get walking. They stop at a police car, where Emily more or less collapses against the sturdy metal. They converse briefly before Aaron is back to work, directing people, sending them in different directions as they search for a safe haven.

From the sidelines, Emily is trying to help, though she is in obvious pain, and in that moment she moves up in status from "really cool person" to "person I aspire to be." She's brave, she's tough, and she's able to ignore that and put others before her.

"What's going on, Patricia?" my father asks again.

"I know them. They're friends of Petula's. Regulars at the Coffee Cabana." I point to Emily and Aaron on the screen, and pull my cell phone out of my pocket, hitting number twelve on the speed dial.

"What's up kiddo?" I hear Petula's voice ask over the phone, a baby crying in the background. "Something wrong?"

"Are you near your TV?" My voice is shaking.

"Yeah. _CSI_'s on, you know. Gotta love Gil Grissom."

"Turn on CNN."

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**Thank you everyone so much for your reviews of the last chapter! I'd hoped to update more before I started classes again, but I've been pulling seven days a week, eleven hours a day in the lab, and now classes on top, so writing times been kind of... well not there. :) Thank you all so much for your patience in waiting.**

**Special thanks to last chapters reviewers: A, Green-Elphaba-Thropp, , chiroho, ramona, KYOunlimited, jazmingirl, fione stecy, luv2read2006, Dicsi, susannah2000, HouseBroken, Thn0715, and Odakota Rose!  
**

**So Trish's Dad doesn't seem as bad as he's made out to be. Hope you enjoyed the little glimpse at Trish's home life. Next chapter we return to the Coffee Cabana for the first morning since the explosion at the ranch. **


	6. Day Fifteen: The Breakfast Meeting

**Disclaimer: And I still don't own Criminal Minds, nor any of the pop culture references made herein. **

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**Day 15**

**The Breakfast Meeting**

I am a mess.

Not emotionally, or anything. No deep dark secrets haunting me, or fall-out from a toxic relationship or argument with my parents. Absolutely not.

I am a literal mess.

So's Petula, and unlike me, she doesn't have time to go home, shower, and change after initiating this new chapter in the history of the Coffee Cabana.

Our latest debacle?

Catering.

It's not like we don't serve any food here. We sell a variety of small, home cooked bake goods with our coffee, something that makes us unique from the mass franchises of Starbucks and Dunkin' Donuts, who push their "disgusting, trans-fat filled, death trap donuts" (Petula's words, not mine) to the masses. Every morning Petula whips up a mix of cookies, brownies, and pastries with all-natural, organic ingredients, starting before I even get to work. They're popular. And delicious.

But catering is a whole other world compared to this.

Which is why, this morning, I have joined Petula at the four a.m. bakeoff. Something has possessed her to take on a new challenge in catering, because apparently being a mom, running a business, and being president of the P.T.A. isn't enough for her.

"Do you think we could use half and half instead of heavy cream?" Petula asks, waving the empty carton in front of me.

_How the hell did I get myself into this? _I think with a sigh, wracking my brain for a simpler recipe than the chocolate chip scones that Petula has been attempting.

OOO

There's this Georgetown student, Mickey, who comes in every morning dressed to the nines on his way to his internship. Up until last Friday, I had no idea where that internship was, and frankly I really didn't care. He was just another face in the crowded line.

But Friday was slow, which was a blessing, because Petula was in a state of panic over what we'd seen on CNN the night before. I was probably more worried than most people would get over someone who was just a customer at the place they worked. We'd spent the morning quiet, contemplative, wondering when Aaron and Emily would return, and just how long it would be before Emily's smiling face made a regular appearance at the shop again.

Mickey's panic, however, may have rivaled ours. He walked in, later than usual, with a ghostly pale face, white as the button down dress shirt he wore under his crisp navy suit.

"Good morning Mic!" Petula called from behind the counter. "You're not looking so hot sweetie, what's wrong?"

He gulped. "My… my internship. I was supposed to contact a caterer to schedule a breakfast for Monday morning, and totally forgot. At this point, it's going to be impossible to find someone. Thirty Senators and nothing to feed them. My chances of getting a decent letter of recommendation are toast."

"Oh Mickey," Petula sighed. Her brow was furrowed, deep in thought. "Sweetie, don't you worry about a thing. What time does the food have to be ready?"

OOO

"I'm guessing we can't pass brownies off as breakfast, can we?" Petula asks, brushing the flour away from her forehead as we pull the flat, overcooked scones out of the oven.

I shake my head. So many of our front counter confections are more deserts than breakfast, and we're at a total loss.

I'm trying to think of all the things I know how to make, when an idea hits me. "We have to start off simple. You have bananas in the back, right?"

"They're my afternoon snack," she replies, patting her flat stomach. "Gotta watch the middle aged pudge."

"Not anymore. We're making banana bread." I smile, feeling in my comfort zone. My grandmother and I used to make banana bread all the time when I was a little girl. It's not really a secret family recipe or anything. Grandma just had a knack for selective reading of recipes.

Besides, what fun is it, following the rules?

"You need me to Google a recipe?"

I point at my head. "Nope, it's all up here." Petula looks wary. I know I'm still the new kid on the block, with only about two weeks of experience, but I'm determined and I know my limits. Banana bread? It's a piece of cake.

Figuratively and literally.

"Trust me. I know what I'm doing.

Petula disappears up front, leaving me alone with full reign of the kitchen. As I reach for the bag of flour, I can smell the coffee starting to brew. In a way it's funny, cause I'm so used to being the one who prepares the coffee while Petula cooks. Today it feels like I'm in charge- at least until all this food is out the door with Mickey.

I'm adding the last dash of nutmeg and tasting the batter with a teaspoon when Petula returns.

"Oh God, tell me you didn't double dip that," she says, hand over her eyes.

"That's disgusting," I shoot back. Really, the only time that's acceptable is when you make yourself a giant bowl of cookie dough.

She leans against the counter as I furiously stir the mixture, trying to eliminate the last chunks of mashed bananas. "We can't just serve them banana bread, kiddo. You have anything else up your sleeve?"

"Up for a trip to the store? Blueberry muffins are pretty easy, we have everything but the blueberries. Then pick up cream cheese and half a dozen bagels at Einstein Brothers. I'll brew up a couple gallons of coffee while you're out." I point out the large carafe on the shelf, one I've never actually seen used since I got there. "Voila. We'll be ready by the time Mickey gets here at nine."

As she grabs her purse and heads out the door, I hear Petula say, "Thank God I hired Julia Child!"

OOO

It's a quarter after six, and the coffee for the party is brewing. Luckily, the pot is electric, so Mickey just has to plug it in when he gets to the office, and it'll stay piping hot for the Senators. A few customers trickle in and out, but not Emily and Aaron, and I assume they still haven't returned from Colorado. It's not like this surprises me- Emily looked like she was in bad shape during those brief moments on TV, and a case like that is almost certainly still under investigation.

Not that I'll ever admit it to my father, but I've watched a bit of CNN since I saw the footage. Unlike the larger than life stories that so often are played, this one hits close to home, for obvious reasons. And because of this, I need to know everything.

I lean against the counter, watching the coffee drip slowly into the pot, almost wishing for any business. Which is why, when the bells above the door ring, I nearly jump out of my skin.

Turning around, I see Aaron walking in, looking as well put-together as ever, if you can ignore the haunted look in his eyes. It's a stark contrast to the man leading crowds out of the fiery building, shirt sleeves rolled up and hair sticking up in all directions.

"You're back!" I exclaim, rather stupidly, before turning to fill his order.

"We are," he replies. "Is Petula in?"

I shake my head as I carefully walk back to the counter with the cup of coffee. "She stepped out for a bit. We've taken on catering, needed more supplies. But how are you? Are you alright? And Emily? She looked like she was in pretty bad shape. We saw you on CNN!"

He grimaces, and I can tell this is the first time he's heard that he was on the twenty-four hour news station. Aaron's definitely not happy about that.

"Everyone's fine," he reassures me. "That's what I wanted to talk to Petula about. Emily's going to be laid up a couple more days in the hospital, and is probably going to want some visitors." I start to ring him up, but he stops me. "Can you get me one of those minty-things Prentiss—Emily—always gets? I'm stopping to see her this morning."

Maybe I raised an eyebrow, or maybe I smirked as I turned away from the counter. I'm not really sure if I did either. But as soon as the words left his mouth, Aaron was immediately defending his previous statement. "I hate to bother her when I know she's recovering, but I have to drop of paperwork. Case reports, injury reports. I'm sure you know what I mean."

Which really begs the question, why does he think I need an explanation of his visits to Emily? I had already assumed it was work related.

Or was it?

See, this is my problem. When I hear something like this, my imagination just starts going wild. Just as I imagined Emily taking out the drug cartel single handedly, I see a lovelorn Aaron, distraught from his divorce, falling into the open arms of his beautiful coworker.

And then I give myself a mental slap in the face.

Elaine once told me about the inter-doctor relationship police at the hospital she volunteered at. Let me tell you, if those Grey's Anatomy doctors ever moved to her hospital, they would be screwed. And not in the physical sense. I can't imagine what the dating policy is at the FBI.

Okay, probably something on par with "not an option… if you want to keep your job."

All this goes through my head as I brew Emily's coffee, adding a little extra mint and a little extra chocolate to hopefully brighten her day.

"Do you have something cooking?" Aaron asks, sniffing the air as I pass him the cups.

"Oh SHIT!" I shout, not even thinking about the words leaving my mouth. I smell it now too, and I'm terrified my banana bread is burning. Then we're really up the creek without a paddle. "Watch the register."

I know it's irresponsible, and with anyone else, I would have thought twice. But Aaron is an FBI agent, and Petula loves him, so I figure I'm alright. Hopefully I don't get my ass handed to me for this. I make it back to the banana bread just in time. Removing it from the tin, I slice two thin pieces from it and wrap them in aluminum.

When I return to the front, Petula has just walked in, arms laden with groceries. Aaron is holding the door open, answering her questions. The interrogation has begun. Honestly, if I was a criminal, I'd much rather have Aaron question me than Petula. He gives her politically correct explanations of the events in Colorado, revealing nothing more than what's been shown on TV. He's responsible to the core about not revealing the critical bits of information that are known only to the FBI, as if Petula and I might go to the papers with it and cash in.

I admire him for it.

Petula voids his order from the cash register with a wave of her hand. "On the house. Really, you both deserve it."

"And this is from me," I chime in, handing him the wrapped banana bread. "Made fresh this morning!"

"I got everything you asked for," Petula said. "You wanna go finish this up? I'm going to talk to Aaron for a bit. Holler if you need me, alright?"

I nod and smile, picking up the bags of groceries from the counter. Aaron has given me plenty of food for thought, and I'm looking forward to dissecting every little detail of our conversation.

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**So very, very, very sorry for the delay in updating! I'm in the middle of hell month- have my first seminar on my thesis research, a couple of major exams and papers coming up, so down time has been rare!**

**Thank you to everyone who read the last chapter, and especially those who have taken the time to review: madamsecretary, pertrisha, JC, Odakota Rose, brittanydelko4ever, Green-Elphaba-Thropp, HouseBroken, jessalynnGSR, I-luv-to-write-law-and-order, jazmingirl, Alissa, Disci, and chiroho. You are all fabulous!**

**Hope you all enjoyed this chapter! I should be back in action sometime in mid-April (though whether my sanity will remain at that point is highly debatable!) . Thank you all so much for your patience. Reviews, and especially constructive criticism, are always greatly appreviated!**


	7. Day TwentySix: GWUH

**Authors Note: Criminal Minds does not belong to me!**

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**Day 26 : GWUH**

I'm really not sure why I am here right now. I'm skipping my calculus class that, if my first exam grade is any indication, I should most definitely be attending. I clocked out of work early, telling Petula I had a meeting with my advisor to discuss my career plans, which are still pretty much nonexistent outside working at the Coffee Cabanna. I'm pretty sure Trey tricked me, but I can't be entirely sure.

If I walk through the doors, he might be standing there.

He probably is standing there.

Alright, he is standing there. It's a fact- I saw him when one of the surgeons went back inside after his cigarette break.

But I can't bring myself to enter.

I can't bring myself to see her.

The truth of the matter is, the last time I saw my sister, we did not part on the best of terms. Elaine had been home from college on break during her senior year. She picked me up from school that day. Somehow we got to talking about our parents, and I blamed her and her achievements for all of my problems.

It really wasn't her fault. I was just a stupid, insecure high school junior. But at the end of the day, I was the one who refused to apologize, I was the one who ignored the calls, and now I was the one practically living without a sister.

OOO

The George Washington University Hospital is an imposing building, located right off of Washington Circle. The building, as a kid, always reminded me of the monuments down on the National Mall and it confused me that it wasn't smack dab between the Jefferson and the Lincoln Memorial. We would pass it in the car, and it became a game for me and Elaine to try and spot any of the elderly politicians hobbling in and out for their annual checkups so they could reassure the voting public they'd survive another six years, if reelected.

It was only a few years later that my sister started volunteering there. My parents hoped I would follow in her footsteps. I wasn't interested.

Elaine is here this weekend. When she first left, she used to come back all the time, but these days it's rarer and rarer. My parents live for the weekends she's home and at GWUH. I don't even have to ask, the whole ambiance of our house changes- laughter in place of silence, smiles where they'd normally be frowning or expressionless faces.

The excitement had started building Wednesday night, when mom got the phone call. She'd practically been skipping through the house ever since. Along the way, she found my dad in the den, who quickly abandoned the TV to make weekend plans with her. They invited me to join them, though it was more a formality now than anything else. It was a well established fact that, if I was going to see my sister, it had to be on my own terms, and I just wasn't ready yet.

So what had changed to bring me to the hospital?

Trey happened.

He pranced into the coffee shop yesterday morning with a smirk on his face as I was serving almond biscotti with chocolate drizzle (my latest experiment from the kitchen) and a cup of coffee to a woman with a baby carriage. "Guess who's home tomorrow?" he asked, though we both knew the answer.

"No Trey."

"You need to see her."

"No Trey."

"It'll be good for you," he encouraged, as I motioned for another customer to move ahead of him. Outside the window, I could see Aaron getting out of his car, hitting the remote to lock the doors of the black SUV. No Emily yet.

"Trey. No. I'm not ready yet. "

He frowned, and that's what stopped me mid-order. "Petula, can you finish this for me? I just need a minute."

"Absolutely kiddo, take as long as you need," she replied with a knowing smile, her eyes darting between Trey and myself. I rolled my eyes at her. She's gotten it into her head that we're a couple, or at least dancing around it.

I pulled him behind the counter, into the kitchen. "What are you doing here Trey? "

"She needs to see you, Trish. You may not be ready, but she is. She has been for a long time."

OOO

His words got under my skin, enough to promise I'd meet him in the lobby of GWUH and visit my sister while she was home. But a promise is entirely different than actually following through, and it turns out that his words aren't enough to give me the courage to go inside. I. Can't. Do. This.

And so, after ten minutes of standing outside the doors of GWUH, I turn around and prepare for retreat, checking my watch. There's still time, if I break a traffic law or two, I might have a chance of making it to class somewhat on time.

I'm a coward. There, I admit it. Anything is better than having to face what I've done.

I pull the car keys out of my khaki, pen-stained mesanger bag, keeping my head low in case the doors should open. I know Trey, and if he sees me and is as determined as he seems, he won't hesitate to drag me into the hospital kicking and screaming. There's cash in my pocket to pay the fee at the parking garage, and as I enter the dark bottom floor of the towering ramp, I'm struggling to fish the twenty out of my jeans.

A quick glance up in search of my car reveals a couple walking the opposite direction. They're heading toward the hospital, moving slowly. The woman appears to be injured, but I'm too focused on fighting with President Andrew Jackson, who seems determined to stay in my pocket and not be given to the parking garage attendant (not that I would have a problem with that…).

We pass, and in my mind, the couple is forgotten within a matter of seconds. I hit the panic button on my car keys, not in the mood to attempt and remember in what letter row I parked my car in.

The obnoxiously loud car alarm starts blaring back the way I'd come from. _Did I really park that close to the entrance?_ Turning, I see the lights flashing on and off between a Hummer and a dark green minivan. No wonder I could see my little sedan.

As I walk toward the car, I pass the couple again.

"I THOUGHT you look familiar!" I hear the woman announce. "Trish, right?"

Looking over I realize that, in my rush, I'd walked past Emily and Aaron. Suddenly both Trey and my class are forgotten as my overactive imagination starts analyzing the situation. I don't know why it didn't dawn on me earlier. He's wearing his typical work gear- neatly pressed suit with a white button down and solid colored tie. Emily, on the other hand, is dressed down- hair in a ponytail, yoga pants and a loose gray Yale t-shirt. Her one arm is crossed over her stomach protectively, and I can tell she's still in some pain. And they're together, when they should be at work.

The obvious answer is that Emily doesn't have family in DC and needed a lift, but that's not where my brain goes first. Nope, my first thought? Covert, illicit love affair. I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

"Emily, Aaron hi!" I reply cheerfully. It's amazing how much the objects of my observation can cheer me up. Amazingly sad, that is. "How are you feeling? Petula's been worried."

So have I, but I'm not going to confess that to nearly complete strangers.

"A lot better than I was. Hoping to get back to work next week, but I'm not sure if the recovery Nazi's going to let me." She nods toward Aaron with a smirk, and he rolls his eyes, and their behavior is just so… well, so couple-y that I can't believe that Emily is spending all her time pining away for her boss. He may not be the most laid back guy in the world, but from what I can tell, Aaron's a good guy and not too shabby in the looks department either.

With a sigh, Aaron replies, "You can come back to work when the doctor's clear you, Prentiss."

_Does he ever call her by her first name_?I wonder.

"I think he's bribing the doctors not to clear me. Seriously Hotch, just desk work, anything to get me out of the house. There's only so much cleaning and reading a human can do before they go crazy." Her voice reveals just a tinge of desperation, and I feel bad for her. It must be hard for such an active person to be so cooped up.

The conversation dies down, and I feel awkward standing here, trying to think of something to say that doesn't involve asking if they want "the usual." I get ready to take my leave when Emily suddenly asks, "Are you doing alright?"

I look at her confused. "Yeah… yeah I'm fine." There's a hint of a question in my voice.

"Oh no, I just got worried. You know, you're leaving the hospital, and if you really weren't feeling well, we could give you a lift when I'm done with my appointment. Just visiting someone?"

"No…. no…" I manage to stutter out, the lie blatantly obvious. I didn't need to be a profiler to figure that one out. "Just dropping off some coffee. One of Petula's friends called in earlier today, has a surgery tonight, needed something other than the crap they serve in the cafeteria as a pick me up. Though if my surgeon needed coffee to get through the surgery, I'm not sure I'd want them operating on me."

_SHUT UP! SHUT UP! _My brain is screaming at me as the words tumble out of my mouth. I'm rambling lies, and Aaron's raised eyebrow is enough to show me that neither of them believes a word of the story I just told. Still, they're too polite to say anything.

Some things are just too difficult to talk about, and it's clear from the look on Emily's face that she understands.

"You must have to get to class, right?" she asks, checking her watch, and I nod vigorously. "Well, don't let us keep you. Keep your fingers crossed that I'll see you next week!"

I promise her that I will, though I'm certain I heard Aaron mutter something along the lines of "In your dreams." As I watch them walk away, I dive into my car, pull out of the parking space, and pay the attendant, grateful to finally be alone.

OOO

He's waiting outside my house when I get home from the half hour of class I managed to attend, leaning against his jeep with his arms folded across his chest and a frown on his face. I briefly consider driving right past him, but knowing Trey, he'd sit at the end of my driveway all night, or until my parents called the cops. And really, I couldn't let my friend get arrested. Better face it now than later.

"You didn't show up," he says as I step out of my car and lock the doors, disappointment in his voice.

"I did show up. I just didn't go in," I reply tersely.

"You can't hide from her forever."

"Oh yes I can, and very easily." He's not going to drop this, though that's the only thing I want to do. I start walking away towards the safety of my house.

"But that's not what Elaine wants!" he shouts at my back.

"How the HELL do you know what Elaine would want?" I finally shout, turning around. "No one knows what Elaine wants, and no one will ever know what Elaine wants. And you can all thank me for that! I know my parents do. Every damn day of my life!"

I drop my keys in frustration as I try to open the front door. For good measure I kick them into the side of the house as I feel tears fill my eyes.

Trey's behind me, and I feel his hand on my shoulder turning me around. "It's not your fault, Trish. No one could have controlled what happened. It's been three years, you can't keep blaming yourself."

As he pulls me into a hug, I let out a sob, knowing he's right.

But saying you can't blame yourself and actually stopping are two entirely different things.

**First off, a million apologies for the long delay in updating! The end of the school year was pretty intense, with finals & papers and such, and then I went straight into doing research and filling out grant applications. Combined with trying to update some long neglected stories, this update took about twenty times longer than I wanted. But it's here now!**

**This chapter is definitely a bit darker than the others. Don't worry! It picks back up in the next chapter (though you'll eventually see what happened between Trish and Elaine, promise- if you haven't already figured it out!). **

**Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read and add the story, and especially those who reviewed: Rutland, Freelance, angry penguin (times four!), ., Odakota Rose, celticgina, angela1830, JC, Green-Elphaba-Thropp, kobitah, Angel N Darkness and madamsecretary. Your reviews are greatly appreciated!**

**Feel free to leave a review! Constructive criticism is accepted and loved! Best- Jac  
**


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